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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801211">Werewolves of Miller's Hollow - Sally's Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticOrSomething/pseuds/CelticOrSomething'>CelticOrSomething</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Loups-garous de Thiercelieux | The Werewolves of Millers Hollow (Card Game), Werewolven van Wakkerdam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Gore, F/M, I mean come on, Werewolves, it's Werewolves!, some gore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticOrSomething/pseuds/CelticOrSomething</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>People are being massacred in Miller’s Hollow, and one young witch is struggling with her past now mob justice rules…</p><p>Based on a true game-play</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Werewolves of Miller's Hollow - Sally's Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a morning like any other when the first killing is discovered. I am told that the Baker Tilly’s screeching alerted everyone in the area of his discovery. Everyone that has come into the shop is talking about it and my employer hasn’t shut up about it all day. Then again, it isn’t every day in Miller’s Hollow that people awake to one of their own smeared over several houses.</p><p>‘How no one heard anything before Baker Tilly’s screams is what baffles me most,’ Ivana shakes her head as she packs up an order in a client’s basket. Her callused hands grab vegetables, apples, and dried herbs out of the crates without looking. Matronly, she’s been often described, although her directness has also been equated to that of a sailor. ‘It’s non-sensical that no one heard Old Barber Bob being slaughtered in the street. When Bugsy stepped in that beartrap last week, he woke the whole village with his screaming.’</p><p>I shrug, swallowing down the bile that has been threatening to come up since this morning. ‘Maybe he was killed so quick there were no sounds to be heard?’</p><p>‘I don’t think it was a bear or a wolf or cougar either,’ Ivana continues. ‘What kind of animal goes into town while the forests around are full of game, and just rips the first human it sees to shreds but only takes a few bites of the corpse? I say it was a person making it look like an animal attack-’</p><p>I am lightheaded before she’s done with her theory and dry heaving.</p><p>‘Oh, sorry Sally dear.’</p><p>I nod at her, trying to breathe through the nausea. My gut is rolling in time with my brain. After four years I’d have thought to be immune to Ivana’s curtness. This bizarre and horrific situation is throwing everyone for a loop. I hadn’t known Old Barber Bob, but in a town small as ours, everyone knows of everyone. And for as long as I’ve lived here, nothing as graphic has happened.</p><p>Miller’s Hollow, a town embraced by forests and at least a day’s ride from most cities. It has one baker, one bank, one inn, one butcher’s, one doctor, one blacksmith’s, and the one grocer I work for. The last census showed we are with but three hundred people. We don’t have a courthouse, our bailiff Mr Stanley just uses a room in the mayor’s mansion, and we don’t even have a church. Services are held in the main square, a bell hung between long poles ringing the masses together when a preacher is in town.</p><p>‘Why would anyone do... that to someone?’</p><p>‘Hate someone enough and human become beasts once more,’ Ivana gestures with a carrot. Her green eyes looking beyond me. ‘But surely someone would have woken up. If just from the metaphysical screams of such an injustice done to poor Old Bob.’</p><p>I shudder at the despair in that imagined scream. ‘Injustice isn’t necessarily a loud business.’</p><p>Ivana rolls her eyes at me. ‘Some people are just more sensitive to these things, like-‘</p><p>‘Your grandmother who became the town’s matchmaker because of her unparalleled success streak, and your mother who often dreamed of things yet to come,’ I interrupt gleefully with the family history she had mentioned before. Often.</p><p>She slaps the back of my head with a grin before picking up the laden basket. ‘I seem to have my grandmothers gift, as you know, so no sassing that what you can’t comprehend.’</p><p>I shoot her a sardonic smile as she waddles to the counter out front with the ordered produce. I could not have asked for a kinder employer. Ever since my first day working here, Ivana has been one of the steadiest presences in my life. Few people would have taken a teen with only a bag and the clothes on her back as an apprentice with no questions asked.</p><p>I tune out her voice as she converses with the last clients of the day. The tone of indignation is enough to know that this morning’s gruesome discovery is still the topic of choice. I’ve heard enough for today.</p><p> </p><p>I have just finished sweeping the dirt and wilted leaves from the floor of the back room when Ivana calls from the counter. ‘Sally dear, our favorite customer’s here!’</p><p>I am smiling before even turning around. In the doorway Jack grins in his wonderfully boyish way as he comes straight at me, hat falling off his head even before I can wrap my arms around his neck.</p><p>Everything else falls away as he picks me up into his embrace and we kiss. Only the softness of his lips, the light scrape of the stubble on his cheeks, the smell of his skin, his long hair between my fingers, and the rapid beating of my heart. It’s rapture. I’ve never felt safer than in the arms of my gentle giant. From the first hug, his embrace became a refuge to me.</p><p>The need for air forces me to stop our kiss, but he plants several more on my face before breathing again. ‘Good to see you, love,’ his voice almost a growl against my skin. He’s as flushed as I feel, hair in disarray. His green eyes sparkling.</p><p>‘Good to see you too.’ He looks tired, I think, seeing the dark bags under his eyes. I pull his face to me for another kiss. ‘How are you holding up?’</p><p>He shrugs and nuzzles my face as I comb his dark hair back into place. ‘It’s so strange, I talked with Old Bob just yesterday. He didn’t make much sense, talking about wolf men at one point. But now...’ Another sigh, ‘I wish I’d seen him home or something.’</p><p>‘My dearest Atlas, willing to shoulder the world.’</p><p>He smiles shyly at my cooing.</p><p>Ivana knocks on the doorway with a grin. ‘Get out of here, you two. I’m locking up.’</p><p>‘Yes, Mother.’ Jack sets me down on my feet with a last kiss on my cheek.</p><p>‘Until tomorrow, Ivana.’ I grab my cloak from the hook by the back door. Jack adjusts his hat before we wander into the shadowed streets with our fingers tangled together.</p><p>‘Shall we get a roll at Baker Tilly’s? I have been having a hankering for a cheese loaf all day.’</p><p>Jack’s smile falls. ‘As long as we avoid the main square.’</p><p>‘Why? That’s the shortest way to get there. I heard that they had cleared away the blood by midday.’</p><p>He looks at me silently. ‘Do you know Vera Farmer?’</p><p>This right here: this is one of his more annoying habits. His non-sequiturs. ‘Don’t change the subject, Jack.’</p><p>‘I’m not, but please tell me whether you know Vera Farmer?’</p><p>‘Not personally, why?’</p><p>Jack sighs. ‘She was hanged this afternoon, just as I was leaving the bank.’</p><p>My lungs suddenly cannot open for air. I stop walking as I stare at his drawn face. ‘She was – what?’</p><p>‘Strung her up at the bell,’ he shudders. ‘It took forever for her feet to stop twitching.’</p><p>I gag and his arm wraps around me. ‘Why? What did she do?’ I can finally ask.</p><p>‘I only saw the aftermath, but the Mayor, well, Mr Stanley, announced that apparently a trail of Old Bob’s blood led to her door, and no one could verify she was home all night. I mainly heard the crowd just... chanting for so called justice to be done.’</p><p>I shudder, horror clutching at my throat. Screaming and shouting fills my ears, and for a moment all I see is a large fire consuming everything- Jack’s face gently nuzzles my cheek and he starts humming. Some children’s rhyme that starts to drown out the screeching from my past. It’s the fifth cycle of the melody when I clear my throat. ‘And they just left her there?’</p><p>‘Yes, and I don’t want you to see it.’</p><p>I dry heave and press my face into his chest. I keep it there until my stomach returns down to its proper place.</p><p>‘Both Vera and Old Bob are beyond pain now,’ he’s as solemn as a preacher preforming last rites. His words remind me of another night that I now push away. It’s in the past. You can’t change the past, as much as you might wish to. I squeeze his hand.</p><p>Jack shoots me an unreadable look and clears his throat. ‘The tax season is almost over, so we’ll be able to go for a midday picnic next week before the winter chill sets in.’</p><p>I don’t mind this change of subject. I remember being so happy for him last year when he became one of the banker’s assistants. His glittering eyes filled with joy when he told me that with this job it would only be a few years before we could afford a house and marry. It wasn’t a calling for him, he has the heart of a poet or a philosopher, but his good head for numbers made him indispensable for Mr Brandson the Banker. He told me once that if we’d never met, he might have even taken up the cloth. Some sleepless night I wonder if I am not depriving the world of an amazing priest, but I’m too selfish to give up his love.</p><p>‘I’d like that, maybe on the south fields by the willow and the brook? The place of our first kiss?’</p><p>He kisses the top of my head before we walk on.</p><p>Most houses are lit with fires and lanterns now. Through the windows we watch fellow townsfolk settle down for the night. It’s not as soothing as it usually is, with children being dragged along by stressed mothers. Typically people holding young children make Jack and I look at each other shyly as I touch the cord around my neck. Our engagement isn’t common knowledge yet, but I already carry his ring over my heart. It’s only a matter of time. Everyone is skittish, and I find myself walking closer to Jack then I normally would.</p><p> </p><p>When we finally arrive at Baker Tilly’s only a few people are still about. Bugsy the Blacksmith limps by, staring at Jack when my love cheerfully wishes him a speedy recovery. Always been a man of few words, that one. And Jack’s colleague Timothy waves at us with a small smile as he leaves the bakery with two loaves under his arm. I tease Jack that Timothy wears the banker’s hat better, even though he doesn’t.</p><p>Baker Tilly is jumpy as he fills our orders, shooing us away as he wanted to get home before dark. His muttering on getting home before the wolves make Jack shrug stiffly. The rolls are slightly stale but filling as always. Jack and I finish eating them before we arrive at the steps leading down to my bedsit.</p><p>‘I’ll see you tomorrow, love,’ he croons against my hair.</p><p>I repress the disappointment that he’s not staying. He needs to be at work so early, he’s the first person the knocker-upper gets out of bed. Anyway, once we’re married it will no longer be an issue. I just need to be patient.</p><p>‘And for my peace of mind,’ he takes both my hands in his. ‘Do not go out walking by yourself after dark.’</p><p>‘What about you?’ I lean against him. ‘You shouldn’t go to work before dawn either with a murderous being on the loose.’</p><p>He flexes his arm muscles with a smile. ‘Let anything try.’</p><p>I snort despite myself. ‘Be serious, Jack, I can’t lose you.’</p><p>‘You won’t, Sally.’ He gathers me against his chest, ‘You’ll see.’</p><p>I close my eyes for a moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart. My poetic lover is so confident, like I hope one day I will be too. It looks like a peaceful state of mind. He kisses me one last time and adjusts his hat as he walks into the night. I wait for him to wave as he turns the corner before going inside.</p><p>The last daylight filters in through the small high windows as I lock myself into my room, casting my bedsit in a blue glow. It’s just big enough for the bed in one corner, a stove with pail of water in the other, a small inbuilt closet, and a cracked mirror by the chamber pot. It’s not much but it’s clean and dry and has served me well these past years.</p><p>It’s warm enough that I decide against lighting a fire, so I just light the candle in the wall mounted lantern and I hang my cloak in the narrow closet.</p><p>At the bottom of the closet a buckle of my Gladstone bag winks in the candlelight. It looks unobtrusive, a grey brown color and obviously well used. The only baggage I had with me when arriving in this little town four summers ago. It once belonged to my mother, until the night when she had thrown her book and bottles into it and thrust it into my arms. Her last words to me were to run and not look back. I had run, but I had also looked back and watched as she was dragged out of our house by a shouting mob to a pyre. Punished by death for being too knowledgeable about the magic that lurks in the corners of society.</p><p>I still don’t know if I regret disobeying that command.</p><p>I pull out the leather bag and open it up. The herby smell fills my lungs and relaxes me. Bottles of every size and color glimmer in the flickering light. I can still hear my mother’s voice when she would point out the different potions and drill me in what they did. The dark green bottles with green oil, two drops on the forehead for sleep. Clear bottles with dark red liquid, apply to any hurt to numb the pain for a while. Red vials of black liquid, one spoonful to save the dying but never give to the healthy. Jars of what looks like balls of pollen, add three to any plant oil to sooth red-rash skin but not open wounds. Yellow bottles with dark tinctures, just a drop on the tongue or on a fallow field helps with fertility-</p><p>Below it all the book of recipes to make more. I have not yet dared to open it. I decided on that faithful night, stowing away in the back of a farmer’s cart with tears still running down my face, that once I stopped hearing the screams and seeing the fire when looking at it, I’ll open it and teach myself her arts.</p><p>Not yet.</p><p>I firmly close the bag and set it back. Today has already reminded me too much of that night.</p><p> </p><p>The knocker-upper’s tapping on my windows is just as hurried as yesterday morning and my stomach sours hearing rushed voices on the street during my morning ablutions.</p><p>Ivana’s appearance is already disheveled from her running her hands through her hair before the first customers are let in. Her waddling gait even more prominent than usual. Every time she passes me, she pats me on the shoulder. For whom’s comfort I’m not sure. Holly the town butcher was found in an alley off the market square this morning. The bloody drag marks apparently starting near the bank and leading directly to her mauled corpse. They identified her by her hair and build.</p><p>‘She was such a cheerful woman,’ the banker’s wife, Mrs Brandson sighs as I am handing her her groceries.</p><p>‘Never sullen.’ I agree as she counts out her money. Whenever Ivana sent me to the butchers for an errand the rake-thin woman would greet me like we were old friends. That such a big smile could fit on a thin face had always baffled me.</p><p>‘Jack told me he had met her just last night on his way home,’ Mrs Brandson handed me the rate. The coins in my hand are heavy. ‘The boy is quite cut up about it.’</p><p>‘Is he alright, you think?’</p><p>‘Oh, I suppose as well as one can be in these circumstances.’ Mrs Brandson heaves the basket away. ‘Thankfully she had trained that eldest son of hers already. He’s planning on taking over the butcher’s shop after the funeral.’</p><p>I blink, but before I could clarify I was asking after Jack she walks out with a sad smile. It’s just as well, it is probably bad taste to ask after Jack when Holly’s children need more sympathy. The eldest son isn’t much older than me, I hope he’s getting help. Losing your mother like this- I have to sit on the floor for a moment to breathe through the pain in my chest.</p><p>‘It’s werewolves I tell you!’ I jump at the sudden voice in what was an empty shopfront. The Bailiff is a loud man, a good habit for someone who occasionally has criminals to punish.</p><p>‘Good day, Mr Stanley,’ I try to smile despite the sourness of his expression.</p><p>‘It would be if we could find and destroy the werewolves slaughtering us Miss Sally,’ he announces. ‘It’s exactly like a decade ago, people being massacred every night in Miller’s Hollow. Only when we finally identified the wolves among us and took them out did it stop. So, have you seen anything?’</p><p>My stomach churns as I try to keep my salesperson smile on my face. ‘Nothing, sir. And what groceries do you-‘</p><p>‘Anything suspicious these past days? The slightest detail might be of great importance.’ His eyes piercing into mine like he’s stabbing me.</p><p>‘Nothing, sir.’ My stammering only adds fuel to his fire.</p><p>‘Really? Nothing out of the ordinary? Anyone seeming more jumpy than usual?’</p><p>‘No, sir, please-’</p><p>‘Mr Stanley, stop interrogating my apprentice.’</p><p>Ivana heaves a laden basket onto the counter and puts a hand on my shoulder. I finally manage to tear away from his gaze.</p><p>‘Apologies, Madam Finn, but I am merely trying to get to the bottom of this dreadful business.’</p><p>‘Commendable, but Sally already said she can’t help you.’</p><p>‘Yes, she has.’</p><p>‘This is your usual order, anything else?’</p><p>He hesitates for a moment. ‘Another cask of that Merlot please.’</p><p>At Ivana’s soft squeeze I turn around and to get one from the back. I try to regain my composure as I walk past the shelves filled with jars and bottles. I am dreading the continued interrogation as I pull the small barrel into my arms, but both Ivana and Mr Stanley are laughing as I return.</p><p>‘A glass of wine may be my daily vice, but it is my only vice.’ He chuckles as I set the cask down and he pays Ivana. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, ladies.’ He easy hold the basket in one hand and the barrels under the other. ‘You know where to find me if you see anything suspicious.’</p><p>‘He’s zealous,’ I murmur after he leaves.</p><p>‘He gets things done.’ Ivana shrugs. ‘If we’d had to depend on the Mayor for leadership we’d probably have been wiped out by those wolves all those years ago.’</p><p>I had heard of that dark period, but only as a story told to children to make them behave. I never realized it had been so recent. It’s mercifully rare to come across werewolves. ‘Then why isn’t Mr Stanley the Mayor?’</p><p>‘I think legally he cannot be both a Bailiff and a Mayor at the same time. Maybe we are lucky then that the nincompoop of a Mayor looks up to him.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sally, it’s our favorite customer!’</p><p>I put the produce crates down with less care than usual, but even so he’s already behind me when I turn around. He leans down to kiss me and then he holds my face in his hands and just looks at me. His stressed face looks even more tired than yesterday. ‘Hi, Jack.’</p><p>Finally he’s smiling. ‘Hi, Sally.’</p><p>‘Bad day?’ I gently stroke the bags under his eyes.</p><p>‘And bad nights,’ he takes hold of my hand. ‘Every time I close my eyes I keep seeing terrible things.’</p><p>‘I know how you feel.’</p><p>He kisses me again and takes my hand. ‘Baker Tilly’s again?’</p><p> </p><p>We are just arriving at the market square when we hear the shouting:</p><p>‘He’s one of them!’</p><p>‘Kill the werewolves stalking us as prey in the night!’</p><p>Jack’s hand grips mine tightly as a mob of people led by the gesturing Mr Stanley gather around the bell. Someone throws long rope over the bell, making it sound once, soft and almost mournful. I can’t look away and I can’t breathe.</p><p>Jack tugs me back to where we were coming from but not before I see a person being pulled up by their neck. Baker Tilly is still twitching when we round the corner and Jack pulls me against him. There is screaming in my ears and fire in my eyes compounded with the image of a twitching body.</p><p>‘Breathe with me, Sally. Come on.’ Jack starts humming something. Or, maybe he’s been humming all this time.</p><p>It takes me a long time to recall how to move my arms to hold him back. My lungs are burning like I inhaled the fire I had seen. Part of me wonders what Jack thinks this is. I’ve never told him exactly why I was orphaned, and he’s never pried. Would he accept having a witch for a wife? No one talks about magic further than people that can sense more. Never have I even heard whispers of people like my mother, that learned how to harness magic. Like people like us do not exist. Or shouldn’t exist. I’m suddenly so very tired.</p><p>As we approach my bedsit the ball of dread in my chest builds. I probably won’t be able to sleep unaided. I look at Jack’s exhausted face. He’s in dire need of a good night’s sleep too. Maybe I could surreptitiously apply some sleeping oil to be sure he sleeps. ‘Spend the night with me?’</p><p>‘I can’t,’ he sighs. ‘Mr Brandson is stressed as it is. Timothy and I not showing up early could push him over the edge.’ He pulls me close so we’re eye to eye. ‘Next week I’ll stay as long as you wish, love.’</p><p>I nod once. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’</p><p>‘And lock your door till dawn.’</p><p>After a last kiss he tips his hat and walks away. His wave from the corner is more subdued than normal.</p><p>I find myself biting my lip while doing my evening ablutions. I get the green vial out of my mother’s bag and dab some oil on my forehead . My finger smells faintly of lavender as sleeps comes over me.</p><p> </p><p>I awake early to hurried voices and horses racing past my windows. I’m on my way long before the knocker-upper gets to my bedsit. Parts of the victim were found by the bell, the other parts dripping blood over the bank’s facade all night. I try to ignore the horrific display when I run to the bank before going to work. Through the window I spot Jack talking with the banker with stressed expressions. Despite the relief I am tense before speaking to our first customer. Ivana’s philosophizing between customers is less focused than usual, worry marring her face. I cannot follow her line of thought to the relief of my churning stomach.</p><p>I start picking at my fingernails whenever my hands are unoccupied. I am so scattered that it’s too long before I realize the victim is in fact Jack’s colleague, Timothy. I sit down for a moment as I process that, thinking of the last grin I saw and fighting the impulse to run all the way to the bank to check on Jack again. He must be beside himself. As the morning progresses more clients talk about outcries to find the supposed werewolves before more are murdered, accusations of being said werewolves made to all corners. Even then it never occurs to me that those accusations would come to ours.</p><p>‘-say that the Finn boy, Jack, was seen arguing with him last night.’</p><p>‘Suspicious business if you ask me, him talking to all victims before they become victims-‘ They shut up at my approach, looking at me with wide eyes.</p><p>I am shocked, and I feel so foolish for being shocked. I have heard all matter of theories being spun, of course we would not be exempt. I complete the transaction with them in a daze, and after they leave I try to reason with myself that I’ve heard all sorts of whispered accusations today, this is merely one of them.</p><p>After noon, everything starts chipping away at that logic. I start counting the times I hear “that Finn boy” or “Jack Finn” being mumbled when my back is turned. And the more times I hear it, the less time there is between customers mentioning him. And the more hostile they sound. Ivana and I are sharing worried looks as we listen to the twenty-third mutter.</p><p>‘-so I know that Jack boy has to be one of them, and there is only one way to deal with such creatures.’</p><p>I turn around to see the end of her dragging her finger across her neck as she glares at me. My mind is racing as I hand out the groceries and they leave, not able to keep even a fake smile on my face. They’re going to kill my Jack! Like they killed my mother-Ivana grabs my arm. I blink as she sharply pulls me close. ‘I need you to run to over to the bank and check on Jack.’</p><p>‘Now?’ As I reply several customers come in with dark expressions.</p><p>‘Yes, now.’ Ivana hisses as she pushes me to the door.</p><p>I only just hear her address the customers. All the whispers we heard are ringing in my ears together with the pounding of my feet. Part of me is so happy to finally be able to do something with the fear that has been simmering under my skin. I cannot remember ever running so quickly, the dread giving me wings like it did four years ago. It cannot end the same way. It will not end the same way!</p><p>The plaza in front of the bank is filled with people, making my thrashing heart skip beats when I see they are surrounding the marketplace’s bell. Horror fills my soul when I realize I cannot see Jack’s hat. I should be able to, he towers over most people. I start understanding sentences in the hullaballoo when I run into the crowd.</p><p>‘He must be one of them!’</p><p>‘String him up, Mr Stanley!’</p><p>‘He knows too much!’</p><p>‘He was seen speaking to all victims before they died!’</p><p>‘Just tell us what you were doing last night, Jacky-boy!’</p><p>I throw my elbows against the wall of bodies before me. Shoving and shouting my way to the front. ‘Jack was with me! He was with me all night! Jack was with me!’</p><p>The Mayor and Mr Stanley turn to look at me with narrow eyes as I stand next to the men holding Jack. The Mayor’s a big man with a pompous moustache. He’s holding a gleaming dagger to Jack’s neck. My Jack is being held up in place my several big men, Bugsy and two others wearing waiter uniforms from the town’s inn. There is a blade against Jack’s neck. Jack has a developing black eye, his clothes ripped in several places and his hat missing from his tousled hair.</p><p>‘Ah yes, Jack’s been courting you.’ Mr Stanley’s voice is loud and dismissive. ‘Young love is so touching.’ Behind me everyone starts chuckling.</p><p>‘We are engaged, sir,’ I yank Jack’s ring from under my cloak and shake my fist towards him. ‘And he was with me all of last night.’</p><p>The laughter slowly dies as the Mayor looks at Mr Stanley.</p><p>‘Do you swear it, miss Sally?’ The Bailiff’s soft voice gives me goosebumps. His grey eyes trying to pierce me in its glare again.</p><p>I resist the urge to look away. ‘He was with me all night last night.’</p><p>Suddenly the Mayor swings the dagger from Jack’s neck to mine. I flinch of the cold touch of the metal. What is going on?!</p><p>‘No!’ Jack shouts.</p><p>‘Would you swear it on pain of death as well?’ The Mayor sneers as the crowd around us starts muttering restlessly.</p><p>I see Jack struggling in my periphery, but dare not look away from the two most powerful men of this village. Murmurs billow around us, but I cannot understand them. My fists shake but my voice is practically steady. ‘I swear it, Mayor sir, he was with me all of last night.’</p><p>The voices around became louder</p><p>‘So she was what he was doing last night-‘</p><p>‘Shut up, Harry!’</p><p>The Mayor and Mr Stanley look at each other as more voices speak up. Hope tightens around my chest like steel bands. The Bailiff’s piercing eyes go to me for a long moment before he waves his hand with a sigh. The Mayor immediately steps away from me, and with a jostle that pushes a soft moan of pain from Jack’s lips, they release him. My love stumbles to me and I catch him before he falls. Our embrace tight as the Mayor shouts something over the crowd.</p><p>I wrap Jack’s arm around my shoulders and nearly drag him through the parting mass. I can feel the stares like scraping thorns on my skin. Jack’s face muscles are tense as he gasps against my cheek. My bedsit is close so I decide to bring him there. We are almost there and the crowds’ noises is but an echo in the wind when Jack whispers to me. ‘You lied.’</p><p>‘I know.’</p><p>The small voice in my mind worrying about the lies is easily drowned in the swirl of relief of having him in my arms and on the way to the safety of my bedsit.</p><p>‘Bugsy stabbed me.’</p><p>His whisper pulls me out of my thoughts. ‘What, love?’</p><p>‘Bugsy stabbed me.’</p><p>‘Bugsy the Blacksmith?’</p><p>‘Bugsy’s little poisonous dagger. One scratch for a fever, a prick for true illness, a stab for certain death.’</p><p>His chant is like an artic wind through my soul. ‘What are you talking-?’</p><p>‘No one will hear them die.’ His eyes are glazing over as his voice starts slurring like a drunk. ‘They will be near death already when we rip them apart.’</p><p>I cannot think beyond the echo of his words in my mind, but I latch on to one thing I can parse together. ‘Jack, are you one of the werewolves?’</p><p>Jack groans as he leans on me more heavily. ‘I see things.’</p><p>‘See things?’</p><p>‘Visions. Dreams.’ Jack hisses.</p><p>I can suddenly hear Ivana’s voice in my mind, telling me that her mother often dreamed of things yet to come. ‘Like premonitions?’</p><p>‘Bugsy and Stanley.’</p><p>‘What?’ Even now with the non-sequiturs! I shake his shoulders and we swagger into my street. My neighbors milling around give us side eye but no one approaches us despite that Jack is making us walk like drunks. ‘Now is not the time Jack, are you a werewolf?’</p><p>‘No, Sally, no, no, no...’ He plants an open mouthed kiss on the side of my nose. ‘Both wolves. Bugsy and Stanley.’</p><p>I stop walking. ‘Bugsy and Stan- Are you sure?’</p><p>‘Saw them kill. Stabbed them with poison dagger.’</p><p>‘But Jack, they didn’t die of a stabbing-‘</p><p>He shakes his head hard enough he nearly loses his balance. ‘Coming for me.’</p><p>‘The wolves?’ I start dragging him forward again, thankful for the wide berth we are given as we whisper to each other.</p><p>‘Poisoned people can’t scream. Brandson won’t believe me. No one believes me!’</p><p>‘I believe you, Jack,’ I kiss his jaw.</p><p>‘Run, we run before too late-‘</p><p>‘Oh Jack dear!’ Ivana’s sudden shout makes me jump and we nearly stumble to the ground. Ivana barges into us, and touches his red cheeked face with shaking hands. ‘Keep walking, Sally, he needs to lay down.’</p><p>My mind is spinning and my stomach is churning as I help him down the stairs and onto my bed. I can see his rapid decline, far too fast for a regular fever. He is barely coherent as I hang my cloak up and gaze at the bag on the closet floor. Saves the dying but never give to the healthy, my mother said.</p><p>His weak cry of anguish snaps me out of my stupor. I search through my mother’s bag, and take out a red vial with black liquid. Saves the dying. His face is scarlet and he is panting like a drowning man. Ivana is shouting for me to bring her water. I set my pail next to her, and climb onto the bed. Please, mother, let this potion be as powerful as you claimed. Save the dying. I pull the vial’s plug off and tilt his head up. ‘Swallow this, my love.’</p><p>Jack grimaces as a dollop of the black liquid hits his tongue.</p><p>‘What’s that, Sally?’ Ivana ladles water into his mouth but even after he swallows it does not erase his frown.</p><p>‘Something to make him better, I hope.’</p><p>‘Well, please go get more water, we need to keep his head cool.’</p><p>I quickly fill my pail from the street’s water pump. The pump’s arm seems to give me less trouble than usual, I can feel dread power my muscles. I suddenly recall the same feeling the day before my mother was trialed by mob justice. She had been nervous since coming back from the market. Telling me she loved me as she held me multiple times that day. It made me nervous too. We were both waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe that’s why she was quick to react when the shouting started outside.</p><p>Pumped water is gushing into my pail, as anger mixes with the dread. If Jack survives the night, and the werewolves leave us be, how long before he is accused again. If Mr Stanley is targeting him, it is only a matter of time. And I refuse to wait for bad things to happen again.</p><p>With a full pail I rush down the stairs.</p><p>‘The fever broke, thank heavens!’ Ivana shouts as I enter and I rush to his side. His sweaty, tired face is no longer red. My soul leaps when his unbruised eye blink open slightly. I feel dizzy and my chest is constricting to keep my jubilant heart inside. He will live.</p><p>His green eye find us, no longer unfocused, and he smiles weakly. ‘Mom. Sally.’</p><p>The burst of relief is too short for me to truly enjoy it. Jack is still in danger. We are all still in danger and no one will believe us until perhaps we are dead.</p><p>Ivana strokes his hair and murmurs motherly nothings as he smiles and closes his eye again. A tear runs down my cheek as I grab the hem of his shirt.</p><p>Ivana turns to me, smiling with curious eyes.</p><p>‘Sally, what did you give him?’</p><p>I swallow the bile threatening to come up. ‘A tonic my mother made.’ My voice is small. In my mind I faintly hear the echo of the screams and roar of the fire from the night she died. I look up to my windows.</p><p>‘A tonic? Don’t you mean a potion?’</p><p>I close my eyes.</p><p>Sally, dear?’</p><p>I only look at her after she wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘You two are well matched, aren’t you? A witch and a seer. My matchmaking powers are almost occult.’</p><p>No, they are occult, just like me. My laugh is more a sob, relief coursing through me like wine. ‘I thought you would…’</p><p>‘Dear girl, the more sensitive stick together when they can. The rest of the world will harm them, but together we are safe.’</p><p>‘Not if the wolves get to us.’</p><p>Ivana swallows sharply. ‘We’ll stay here until first light. If we rush we can be packed in no time, and leave on our cart for a new town.’ Ivana announces with a final squeeze of my shoulders. ‘I refuse to stay in a town that tries to lynch my son.’</p><p>My hands grip Jack’s ruined shirt tightly and my gaze falls to the open bag of bottles by my side. The mob is least of our concerns. If the werewolves live, Jack will die. So will Ivana and me, probably. My locked door surely isn’t a deterrent for beasts that rip people apart. And outrunning them? Would we make it out of Miller’s Hollow, looking like fleeing suspects with another body ripped to pieces? And wolves hunt great distances, werewolves probably will too. Saves the dying but never give to the healthy. I could not save my mother, but I can save Jack. Save us. Wine should mask any taste. And he said that he drinks it every evening.</p><p>‘Okay, Ivana,’ I shoot her a smile.</p><p>‘Good girl. Help me get Jack under the covers.’</p><p>I surreptitiously put some green oil on two fingertips as Ivana pulls the sheets from under her son. As we get him comfortable on my bed I graze Ivana’s forehead while combing her hair back from her face.</p><p>She is already asleep as I lightly help her lay down next to Jack. And I gently dab Jack’s forehead twice with green oil.</p><p>I stroke his damp hair until he starts making soft snores. Then I put my bag back in my closet, except for a full red vial of black liquid I put in my cloak pocket. After feeding the fire I drape myself in my cloak and lock the door behind me.</p><p>The streets are already deserted. Curtains drawn in front of all windows make the dusk even darker.</p><p>Mr Stanley’s house abuts the surrounding woods, so I circle around through the wild brush and hide behind trees when I see the lanterns of his house are lit. His kitchen opens to the woods like all other houses on this street, and the cask of wine he will drink from should be there. Bugsy’s tin cup will be next.</p><p>The vial in my fist is warm when a shadow moves in the corner of my eye and I freeze. Heart hammering in my chest I make out another person approaching the Bailiff’s house from the woods. I recognize Bugsy by his lumbering limp and leather apron. Mr Stanley opens the back door after a single knock, dressed in his Sunday’s best like he’s expected at a court hearing, and with a patronizing smile lets him in.</p><p>The door closes behind them. I touch Jack’s ring under my cloak for courage and sneak closer. I see them talking in the dining room before sneaking to the door. I take a deep breath as I reach for the door handle. The latch opens without a creek, and I carefully push the door open. No squeaking, Mr Stanley has the funds to keep his home in good repair. I see a door with frosted glass toward the rest of the house and the cask is on the counter with two cups next to it.</p><p>‘Absolutely not, you idiot!’ Mr Stanley suddenly shouts.</p><p>The shadows on the frosted glass in the door move sharply. I freeze and put my hands over my mouth before I can gasp out loud. My heart is now truly thundering in my chest.</p><p>‘You’re not the boss of me!’ Bugsy shouts back as I continue my quiet trek. I don’t even dare inhale now.</p><p>‘No buts about it! It’s too much of a risk to go out now! Do you want to get us killed?’</p><p>Without letting myself hesitate I pull out the wooden stopper blocking the top air hole and pour the vial empty into the cask.</p><p>‘But I’m hungry!’</p><p>Mr Stanley tsks as I jam the wooden stopper back in the airhole and carefully swirl the wine. ‘You are always hungry! If this is going to go on much longer I’m going to need to order more from the butcher’s than I already do.’</p><p>‘You’re just as hungry.’ Bugsy accuses him as I quickly creep to the open back door, stopping it swing against the latch by inches. My lungs burn for air. ‘That’s why Holly had to die.’ I stop in the doorway and inhale sharply before I can stop myself.</p><p>‘Be that as it may if we go out now, there is a significant chance we will be spotted heading over to that girl’s bedsit! Do you want the other villagers a chance to organize themselves and attack while we’re trying to eat?’</p><p>‘But I need!’</p><p>‘Of course,’ Mr Stanley’s voice is tauntingly cruel. ‘And a little self-control is good for the soul, so you are going to drink a cup of wine with me and wait for the night to truly fall before our hunt.’ I step out and keep listening through a gap of the almost closed door.</p><p>‘You’re not the boss of me.’ Bugsy sneers,  voice almost too soft for me to hear.</p><p>‘Be good and I’ll even let you have the first bite of Jack, like you wanted yesterday.’</p><p>‘That’s why I’m hungry!’</p><p>‘You stabbed that banker clerk with that poison dagger of yours, before confirming it was Jack. And what was our agreement?’</p><p>‘I made that dagger!’ Bugsy sounds deranged, like a hound being tortured.</p><p>‘What was our agreement, Bugsy?’ Mr Stanley’s voice is icy.</p><p>‘If you stab it, you eat it and maul it.’ Bugsy lets out a groan as he speaks. ‘Stupid banker with their hats.’</p><p>‘Stop behaving like a brat. You’ll get your fill tonight. That Jack has wonderful meat on his bones-.’</p><p>I close the door as carefully as I can and run to a nearby tree. Once I get behind it I let myself dry heave as I gasp for air, and hold myself against the bark as my knees buckle. I am disgusted enough that any happiness of not being spotted is swarmed with horror. They are the werewolves, but what if the potion doesn’t work on werewolves? What if they smell the potion in the wine and throw it away? What if they come looking for the poisoner?</p><p>I look up to the window and see Mr Stanley hand an irate looking Bugsy a cup. The blacksmith is more hunched over than usual, like the beast he is as he drinks his cup empty in a few swallows. Mr Stanley berates him with a disgusted sneer on his face as he takes more modest sips.</p><p>I can barely feel the chill of the darkening night, or the rough bark under my hands and cheek. My heart is pounding in my head, the drum holding back images from my past I don’t want to see. I cannot be distracted now, what if the poison doesn’t work? Well, then I’m dead anyway. I think of my mother, maybe I’ll see her again soon and I’m sure I’d find Jack once they attack my bedsit-</p><p>Mr Stanley’s suddenly frowns in confusion just before I see Bugsy fall forward off his seat. I hear a loud howl rattle the window. A last cry from a dying animal. Mr Stanley shouts from his seat when he suddenly lurches back and with a face drawn like he’s seeing ghosts he slowly slumps in his chair.</p><p>Another death howl rings in my ears, deeper and louder than the first.</p><p>I count a hundred breaths of utter stillness before I dare move. Slowly I creep closer to the window. The bodies are deformed, teeth elongated and hairier than any person I have ever seen before. My hands are shaking, but I don’t feel scared as I go back to the kitchen and drain the cask into the sink. The red wine swirling in the white basin before disappearing into the dark drain.</p><p> </p><p>I see no one, and no one sees me the entire journey back to my bedsit. Ivana and Jack have not moved, faces utterly peaceful. As I kneel by the stove and feed the fire, Ivana stirs in her sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Constructive Criticisms Preferred</p></blockquote></div></div>
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